My wife didn’t want me to run outdoors last Friday, Jan. 3. According to GPS, I live 0.73 miles from Interstate 95, where it juts through coastal Eastern Connecticut. The previous evening, we had followed the Weather Channel and its prediction for blizzard-like snow, frigid temps, and strong winds for the “northeastern corridor of Interstate 95.” Yes, that would be us.

For once, the forecasters got it right. When I looked out our windows Friday morning, I saw a thick covering of snow, and treetops bending to the wind. The temperature was in the mid-teens; the windchill must have been around zero.

Still, it took only two phone calls to arrange a small group run. That’s when my wife lodged a protest: An errant car might skid out of control and hit us, she noted. Or I could slip and fall on a patch of ice. Three months earlier, I had fallen on a rocky trail run, sustaining several deep gouges.

These required medical attention that included several antibiotics, which, in turn, led to one of those unpredictable-but-serious side-effect illnesses. My wife thinks I should try to avoid more falls. So do I.

Yet the wicked weather was also alluring. My friends and I bundled up and hit the roads along the meandering Mystic River. There were no cars, so we ran three-across, the snow crunching under our shoes. I think the light cruuunch-cruuunch of shoes on crisp snow must be every northern runner’s favorite sound.

I haven’t had many good runs lately, and I didn’t expect one Friday. But a biting wind slaps you awake. You can’t daydream or fret over next month’s bills; you have to live in the moment. Every time we turned a corner, I had to raise or lower my balaclava, much as sailboat racers deploy their spinnakers.

It struck me that I was having fun on this run. We practically owned the world--we didn’t see any walkers, cyclists, or other runners--and it felt glorious. Almost euphoric. My thoughts wafted to and fro. Then they settled on an surprising topic.

Earlier the same morning, I had read a newspaper story[4] about Boston Marathon Race Director Dave McGillivray[5]. He recently learned that he has heart disease.

I have known and admired Dave for 30+ years but questioned him hard last spring about his field position when the Boston bombs exploded. Dave was out in Hopkinton preparing for his personal late-day run to Copley Square. I have always believed a captain should seize the helm at times of great peril. From Hopkinton, at the time of the two explosions, Dave couldn’t do that.

On our Friday morning run, my friends stopped where we had begun, but I decided to continue running. Solo. I hadn’t planned this. An inexplicable burst of energy seemed to carry me along.

Cruuunch-cruuunch. Lean into the wind. Pull down the balaclava.

Ten months ago I learned that I have a heart condition that sounds very similar to Dave’s. We have exchanged a few emails, offering encouragements. Still, guys like us are sometimes termed “ticking time bombs.” You just never know what any given run will bring, but we haven't stopped.

We’re still out there anyway.

On the last mile of my cold Friday run, I grew weary. I had covered twice my intended distance, and my quads weren't happy.

Through most of this last mile, my mind turned to Dave and this year’s Boston Marathon. I reminded myself that his presence at the finish line wouldn’t have altered anything last April. The events unfurled too fast. More important, the bombs weren’t an attack on the Boston Marathon, Dave’s responsibility.

The bombs represented a random attack on the Boston public and the American right to free assembly. A president, a governor, a mayor, a race director … None, sadly, can stop such heinous acts of violence.

We can only refuse to let fear erase our cherished events and ideals.

Last April, Dave was forced to wait 11 days before making his annual Hopkinton-to-Boston run. This year I hope he returns to his old habit, running the distance in the late-afternoon and evening darkness of Marathon day itself. I've changed my mind; he deserves the release from his endless preparations.

More important than anything, I hope Dave has a safe day and safe run. I hope we all do.